


I've never been there (but I know the way)

by Rehearsal_Dweller



Series: Whatever Else Comes AU [4]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, Parent Donald Duck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21671503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehearsal_Dweller/pseuds/Rehearsal_Dweller
Summary: "It sucks. Being out of the loop."A kid-centric story about being kept in the dark.
Relationships: Dewey Duck & Launchpad McQuack, Gosalyn Mallard & Launchpad McQuack
Series: Whatever Else Comes AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547776
Comments: 17
Kudos: 165





	I've never been there (but I know the way)

**Author's Note:**

> A few little context notes:  
> \- This is a vague few months after the moonvasion, not super long but not close either.  
> \- Gosalyn has been with Drake in this AU since around the time of the moonvasion. I'm going to tentatively say a little bit before, but I may change my mind.  
> \- Surprise, Gosalyn Mallard is in this.  
> \- the title is from "i'm going to go back there someday" from the muppet movie which is my favorite muppet song
> 
> Originally the idea I had for a story about how the kids are doing was completely different, and then Disney+ happened and I went on a big Darkwing Duck binge and this happened instead. I like this better.

“Hey, Dewey, you remember my friend Drake right?”

“Hmm?” Dewey looked up at Launchpad, who was leaning faux-casually against the back of the couch. “Your boyfriend?”

“ _What_?” Launchpad said, momentarily distracted from the conversation he’d been trying to start. “No, Drake’s not – not that I wouldn’t _want_ – but he’s really just, I mean we’re – he’s not my boyfriend.”

Dewey laughed. “You keep ditching me to hang out with him, and he’s, like, all you talk about.”

“ _Nah_ ,” said Launchpad. “We’re just – he doesn’t –“

“Okay, fine, fine,” Dewey said, raising his hands in defeat. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Right, so, uh,” Launchpad said, trying to pull his focus back to his original topic, “he’s – we’re –“ He stopped for a moment, then launched himself over the back of the couch to sit next to Dewey. Something dark settled behind his eyes and he sighed deeply. “He’s hurt, Dewey. I’m bringing his daughter to stay with you guys for a few days, and I think she’ll be really shaken up. Can you please stick with her while she’s here? Keep an eye on her for me?”

“Yeah, of course, Launchpad,” Dewey replied, caught entirely off guard by Launchpad’s sudden seriousness. “What hap-“

“It’s - you don’t need to know,” Launchpad said, looking pained. “Look, Gos doesn’t even know. I just need to know my best friend’s got her back while I’m with her dad.”

Dewey nodded. “Of course.”

“I knew I could count on you, Dewey.” Launchpad’s tone was back to normal as he patted Dewey on the shoulder and stood up, the distant look in his eye the only indication of his uncharacteristically serious mood. “I’ll be back with Gosalyn in about an hour. See ya.”

—

“No, I’m not staying here!” There was a sound of something wooden being thrown forcefully onto the hard floor. “I want to see Dad!”

Dewey froze on the stairs, just out of sight of the front hall.

“Gos-“

“Don’t you _Gos_ me, LP,” the same child’s voice snapped. “You’ve never not let me see him before! Even when he’s been really beat up! Is he dying?”

“He’s not dying,” Launchpad’s voice replied quietly.

“Well then why won’t you let me go to him with you?” Gosalyn - because this could only be Drake’s daughter - sniffled. “Can’t I at least stay with the Muddlefoots? So I’ll be right there when you bring him home?”

“Gos, kiddo, he’s at Duckburg General; it’s only four miles away,” Launchpad said, his tone still gentle. “And if you’re here, I know you’re _safe_. Please, if I’m not going to be with you I need to know you’re safe.”

“Am I in danger?” Gosalyn asked. “Are _you_?”

“Probably not,” said Launchpad, “but I’m not taking any chances with you, okay?”

There was something softer in Launchpad’s voice than Dewey had ever heard there, and he suddenly felt very guilty for eavesdropping.

He stepped into the light, clearing his throat loudly. Rounding the corner, his eyes fell on Launchpad, who was kneeling on the ground with a duck about Dewey’s own age, with brown feathers and wildly curly red hair. She was wearing some kind of sport uniform with padding underneath, which gave the distinct impression that Launchpad had picked up her up in the middle of practice. Sure enough, as Dewey got closer he saw that the _smack_ of wood-on-floor had been a hockey stick being thrown down at her feet. She was sock footed, and two bags were stacked between her and Launchpad and the door. The larger of the two was clearly a hockey gear bag, though it looked mostly empty, and the smaller was a half-zipped duffel bag that looked like it had been packed in a hurry.

Launchpad looked over at the sound. For a moment, his expression lightened. “Dew-man! Your timing is perfect, as always.”

“Of course it is, I’m always perfect,” Dewey replied, hopping up onto the bannister and sliding down. He landed near the bottom of the stairs and walked the last few steps over to Launchpad and Gosalyn.

“Dewey, this is Gosalyn Mallard,” Launchpad introduced. “Gos, this is my best friend Dewey.”

“I thought Dad was your best friend,” Gosalyn said, a little hint of mischief in her voice, although it didn’t sound like her heart was really in it.

“I’ve got room in my heart for lots of best friends,” Launchpad replied easily.

Gosalyn opened her mouth like she wanted to say something else, but glanced at Dewey and let it fall closed again.

Launchpad scooped her into a hug, standing up. “Be good for Mr. D, okay?”

“No promises,” Gosalyn replied. She leaned into the hug for a moment, taking a deep breath, before making a big show of squirming out of Launchpad’s arms. When she spoke again, her voice was so quiet Dewey could barely hear her from just a few feet away. “Are you sure you can’t stay?”

“I’ve gotta go to your dad,” Launchpad said just as quietly. “I’ll be back tonight. But I’ll have my phone on me if you need me, and if you need anything else Donald’s here and he’s, like, a professional dad.” He ruffled Gosalyn’s hair. “Love you, kiddo.”

“Yeah, yeah,” mumbled Gosalyn. “I love you, too. You better take good care’a my dad, LP.”

“I always do,” Launchpad said, now back to full volume. “Bye, Dewey! Remember what we talked about!”

“Aye-aye, Captain Launchpad,” replied Dewey with a slightly overdramatic salute.

Gosalyn didn’t say anything else as she watched Launchpad leave. Her pads didn’t hide the way her shoulders fell once he was out of sight, like she’d been putting on a bit of show and now she was deflating. She didn’t turn away from the door until they heard the muffled sounds of the car driving away. Then she kicked her duffel bag so hard it rolled over and spilled two t-shirts and a mismatched pair of socks from the open zipper. 

“Stay here, you’ll be safe,” she said mockingly. “Safe from what? Who in the hell knows who we even -“

“It kinda just sounds like he’s worried,” Dewey said, tentative. 

Gosalyn whipped around. “Stay out of this! Whatever Launchpad asked you to do, to look out for me or whatever? Forget it. I just want to be alone.”

“Let me take you someplace you can be alone then,” Dewey said, “cause the front hall ain’t it.”

“Fine,” said Gosalyn. She sounded angry, or at least like she wanted to sound angry, but she mostly just looked tired and scared. 

“Sooo,” Dewey said as they walked after she’d pulled her stuff together, “did Launchpad pick you up from practice?”

“He picked me up alright,” grumbled Gosalyn, “right off the stinkin ice! He didn’t even let me take my skates off, he just carried me to the car all ‘something happened, sweetie,’ and then didn’t even take me to _see_ Dad!”

“Man, that sucks,” said Dewey.

“Yeah.” Gosalyn looked down, toward her bags that were slung over her shoulder. “They’ve never – it’s the middle of the day!”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

Gosalyn’s head turned back toward Dewey in an instant, and she looked a little pained. “My dad works nights. Usually this time of day he’d still be asleep.”

Dewey hummed in acknowledgement. Gosalyn had a look about her like she’d probably be able to snap him in half if she wasn’t so distracted, so he didn’t want to push the conversation too far.

“Here’s a guest room,” Dewey said, gesturing to the door he’d stopped in front of. “Should be a good place to hang out alone for a while. I’m pretty sure it’s where Huey goes where he wants to scream without bothering anybody, but he’s on a Junior Woodchuck trip this weekend so he won’t bother you.” He paused for a moment, debating whether or not to say anything else. “Uh, if you decide you want to _not_ be alone, I’ll be in the game room by the bottom of the stairs at the end of the hall. And my dad’s outside in the houseboat. If you need, like, dad stuff.”

“Whatever,” said Gosalyn. She dropped her bags on the floor and kicked the door closed behind her.

“Good talk,” Dewey said to himself, still facing the closed door. He nodded firmly, then walked down to the game room and hoped that Aunt Della wasn’t going to choose today to pick another fight over The Mom Thing. Now was not the time.

\--

Gosalyn dug through the bag of clothes Launchpad had brought her, looking for something to wear. It seemed kind of like LP had just thrown half of the clean laundry basket into the bag in a rush – a theory confirmed by the presence of one of Dad’s dorky sweater vests tangled up with one of Launchpad’s socks. Still, she found a whole outfit’s worth of clothes in there, not wanting to put her pre-practice clothes back on, which felt a little bit like a miracle.

She threw her pads and uniform aside, replacing them with comfy pants, her favorite green sweatshirt, and an absolutely _ancient_ Darkwing Duck t-shirt that had been her dad’s before she stole it. Usually she didn’t wear the shirt out of the house, since it was way too big for her and the graphic on the front was pretty faded, but it was so soft and smelled like her house and made her feel kind of like her dad and LP were right down the hall.

Even though they weren’t.

She sighed, sweeping a hand through her hair and pulling out her ponytail. It had come loose anyway, so she tied it back up a little haphazardly. She kicked her hockey bag, just to see if it would make her feel any better about not knowing what was going on. It didn’t.

The room she was in had a big window with a window seat. She crawled up onto it, looking out over the grounds. Leave it to Launchpad to stick her in the one place she couldn’t run away home from; even discounting the fact that it took like ten whole minutes to get up the driveway in a car, Killmotor Hill was almost forty-five minutes from home even with Launchpad driving. Her window overlooked the outdoor pool.

Gosalyn wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when Dewey said his dad was in the boat outside, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t a houseboat anchored in a standard swimming pool. But there it was, and there Donald Duck sat on its deck. Gosalyn sighed, sliding back away from the window before anyone outside could see her. She flopped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling for a while.

She let herself lose track of time. The sooner the day ended the sooner Launchpad would come back and she wouldn’t be stuck here alone. In the meantime she tried to focus on dumb normal stuff like hockey plays and new trick arrow ideas instead of how frustrating it was to be kept in the dark. And by Launchpad of all people! _Launchpad!_ Who’d never before today been able to withstand the power of Gosalyn’s Sad Eyes even _one single time_?

She was not succeeding at focusing on dumb normal stuff.

“ _God_ , can’t we even talk about this?”

Gosalyn sat up, turning toward the window. She crept back over to it. A long haired duck that had to be the sister Launchpad told her about stood across from Donald on the boat deck with her hands on her hips.

“I don’t know, Della,” Donald replied. From this angle it looked like he was still stretched out on his chair, not even looking at Della. “Do you want to talk about it or do you want to yell at me? Because I’m not really in the mood to be on the receiving end of your guilt issues right now.”

“ _Guilt issues_?” Della repeated.

“Yup, okay, I’m not doing this now,” Donald said. He sat up, facing his sister. “You know we have a houseguest, right?” He looked directly up at the window Gosalyn was sitting in, gesturing with one hand. Gosalyn yelped and jumped away from the window.

She didn’t know he’d seen her up here. She must be slipping, if some regular dad could spot her in a window without even trying.

“How about instead you tell me what sent you down to me all upset instead of yelling pointlessly about how I adopted your kids,” said Donald.

“I don’t understand anything Louie says.”

“I can work with that.”

Gosalyn moved back further away from the window. She dug her phone out of her hockey bag and sent a quick text.

_To: launchdad_

_hey I’m all settled here how is dad?_

His reply was almost immediate.

_Dad’s okay will update u when i know more_

Which was not super helpful, but Gosalyn did at least trust Launchpad to tell her if her dad was actively dying. She knew, though, that if he were really okay she’d be with him instead of locked out of the loop at McDuck Manor.

—

“I didn’t know you guys were adopted, too.”

Louie nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around, slipping off of the couch in the process, to look at the person who’d startled him. Dewey barely reacted.

“Who the heck are you?” Louie demanded.

“Gosalyn Mallard,” the newcomer replied. “You’re pretty easy to startle for a McDuck kid.”

“I don’t expect to be ambushed in my own home,” Louie said, brushing himself off and crawling back onto the couch.

“Boring! You’ve gotta stay sharp, man,” Gosalyn said. “Never know what danger lurks behind you, waiting to swoop out of the shadows.” Louie’s face must’ve looked pretty dumb because she burst out laughing. “I’m kidding, I’m not just some random lurking in your house.”

“She’s Launchpad’s, uh, friend’s kid,” Dewey interjected. To her, he added, “Are he and Drake really just friends?”

“Aw, heck if I know,” replied Gosalyn, rolling her eyes. “LP kinda lives with us, but they also kinda just pine over each other all the time, so. Who knows.”

“Okay, cool, but why are you here?” Louie said. Dewey smacked his arm.

“Oh,” Gosalyn said. Her face fell and she sat down heavily on the arm of the couch. “Um, my dad got hurt. I don’t know what _happened_ , because Launchpad wouldn’t _tell me_ , but.” She twisted a loose curl around her fingers. “Yeah.”

“Sorry.” Louie was surprised by how instinctively genuinely he meant that. “We know a thing or two about being kept in the dark.”

“Mm. I’m usually not. Kept in the dark.” Gosalyn smiled. “Dad’s biggest secret was blown when I met him, and Launchpad’s Launchpad, so they decided pretty early on that it was easiest just to tell me things.”

“Sometimes grownups keep things from you because they think they’re protecting you,” Louie replied. He rolled his eyes. “Never mind the damage they do when they lie.”

“What do they lie to _you_ about?” Gosalyn asked. She pulled one of her legs up underneath her.

“Being adopted,” Dewey said flatly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, no, we’re fine now.” He leaned back against the couch, throwing his feet onto Louie’s lap. “It was a whole thing a couple months ago, though.”

“What, uh,” Gosalyn said, shockingly tentative, “what happened?”

“Bio mom came back from the dead happened, that’s what,” said Louie. He shoved Dewey’s feet away, looking seriously at Gosalyn. “And somehow _that_ wasn’t even the dramatic part.”

“I heard your dad and his sister arguing outside.”

Dewey groaned. “Yeah, they do that, like, every couple days. It’s pretty easy to tune out. There are some issues there.”

“It’s taking Aunt Della a lot longer to get over Dad lying to us than it took us,” Louie added. “I mean, Hu still goes and screams in a guest room about it sometimes, but, like, I think we’re handling it alright.”

“So your aunt is your mom,” Gosalyn summarized. “And she’s mad but you’re okay mostly. Cool. Do they lie to you about stuff like that a lot? Big stuff, I mean?” She smiled a little halfheartedly, like she was trying to lighten the mood. “If I’m gonna get my parental figures to cut this out, I need to know where they’re picking up the bad behavior.”

Louie and Dewey both stared at her for a moment, and she let out a little laugh.

“Your dad’s been giving my dad and LP parenting advice,” she said. “I think Drake has him on speed dial. I didn’t even know speed dial was still a thing.”

Louie laughed. “Yeah, like an old person thing. But nah, Dad’s not really a liar; he says we get into everything no matter what he does, so he’d rather we know what’s going on when we do.”

“There was the Scrooge thing,” Dewey said. Louie shrugged in acknowledgement. He’d kind of been counting that as one and the same with the Aunt Della thing.

But yeah, okay, maybe there was more keeping of triplets in the dark going on than Louie liked to admit.

Gosalyn kicked her hanging foot a bit, aimlessly. Louie counted himself as pretty good at reading people, generally. It was one of his only really important skills. He was pretty sure that if he’d met Gosalyn for the first time on any other day, in any other circumstance, she’d be a very different person. He could see shades of that other Gosalyn in her – in the slightly probing, investigative tilt to her tone, in the set of her shoulders, in the way that even sitting in such a relaxed position she looked ready to spring to her feet at a moment’s notice.

He wondered, watching her, why Gosalyn Mallard was so on guard. Her posture reminded Louie a little bit of Webby, but he doubted that Gosalyn had been raised by an overprotective spy without any normal child socialization before she came to Drake. There was an unspoken readiness, even under the layers of fear and questions and jokes, the kind Dewey always claimed he had but didn’t.

Gosalyn was a fighter, and right now she didn’t know who or what she needed to fight.

“It sucks,” Louie said, interrupting his brother’s explanation of the Scrooge Situation and ignoring his indignant splutter. “Being out of the loop.”

Gosalyn’s shoulders slumped forward, tension releasing for a moment. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” agreed Dewey.

They sat in silence for a moment. 

When Gosalyn finally spoke, her voice was quiet and a little scratchy. “I’m scared.”’

“I’m scared, like, all the time,” Louie admitted, shoving his hands into his pocket.

“Well I’m not!” Gosalyn twisted her fingers in her hair again. “Getting dangerous, fighting villains, I can handle that. No sweat! But I -“ she looked away, fidgeting and looking like she was struggling for words, “- I lost my first parents, I lost my grandpa. I can’t lose Drake, too. I _just_ got a family again.”

Dewey made a choked sound at the back of his throat, and Louie wondered if he, too, was hearing Webby’s voice echoing in his ears at her words. Louie looked from Gosalyn to his brother, and made a decision.

He kicked his feet out in front of him, freeing up the space next to him on the couch where they’d been nestled. “C’mere. You like fighting games?”

“Duh, who doesn’t?” Gosalyn asked.

Louie grabbed the third controller off the table and tossed it to her as she slid off the arm and onto the couch cushion. “Dewey sucks at this game, give me a challenge.”

“Hey!” Dewey said.

“Pssh, easy,” said Gosalyn, a small but grateful smile on her face. “You two McDorks are going down.”

—

Huey had had a blast on his Junior Woodchuck retreat weekend. He was even more excited to have convinced Webby to come along and try scouting out. He was practically vibrating in the backseat of the car with anticipation for telling his brothers about everything they’d done. 

“Remember, children, it’s late,” Mrs Beakley said from the driver’s seat, as if she’d heard Huey’s thoughts. “You can tell your siblings about your weekend in the morning.”

“But Granny -“ Webby started.

“No buts,” Mrs Beakley said firmly. “It’ll be bedtime when we get home.”

“Yes, Mrs Beakley.”

“Yes, Granny.”

The rest of the drive - about another half an hour - passed in silence. 

Dad met them on the front steps, catching both Webby and Huey in a hug.

“Are we still hosting Miss Mallard?” Mrs Beakley asked. 

Huey didn’t know who Miss Mallard was, but it sure seemed like Dad did, because he said, “Yes, for at least a few more days. She’s inside, I’ve been sitting with her. She won’t go to bed until -“

He nodded down the driveway, which Huey thought was unnecessarily cryptic. 

“Quite so,” said Mrs Beakley. She turned her attention back to the kids. “Inside, go.”

There was a girl sitting just inside the door who Huey had never seen before. She had brown feathers and curly red hair and what looked like a barely recognizable due to age Darkwing Duck t-shirt and she jumped to her feet when they walked in. But then, as if realizing who they were, just as quickly she fell back into her seat.

“He’s on his way, Gos,” Dad said over Webby’s head. The mystery girl shrugged and didn’t look up. “Gosalyn.”

“What.”

“He’s coming. He texted me ten minutes ago.” Dad’s hands fell on Huey’s shoulders.

“Didn’t text me,” the girl grumbled.

“These are my other kids, by the way,” Dad said. “This is Huey, triplet number three, and Webby over there is Mrs Beakley’s granddaughter. Kids, this is Gosalyn. She’s staying with us while her dad’s –“

“- dying,” Gosalyn cut in.

“In the hospital,” Dad finished firmly. “He’s not dying.”

“Why won’t anybody tell me what’s wrong with him then, huh?”

“Gosalyn –“

Huey looked at Webby, who frowned back at him. All this talking over their heads was getting tiring. He was about to pull away from his dad, say something about that whole bedtime thing they were supposed to be doing when there was another crunch of driveway gravel and the front door was thrown open again.

Everyone turned toward the door, falling unthinkingly into defensive stances. They relaxed when they realized the newcomer was just Launchpad, although Huey had never seen Launchpad look so disheveled. He wasn’t wearing his hat, his hair was askew, his clothes were rumpled, and he looked slightly lost.

“Launchpad!” Gosalyn rocketed forward, throwing herself into his arms. His expression softened as he caught her.

Huey suddenly felt like he was intruding on something, which was annoying because he was standing in his own home. He was also feeling an awful lot like there was something going on that nobody was telling him, which was also annoying. He caught Webby’s eye again and nodded back toward the stairs.

She nodded in agreement and they started to walk away, both politely pretending that they couldn’t hear the stream of comfort and apologies Launchpad was murmuring or Gosalyn’s shaky sobs, even though they were carrying clearly through the otherwise silent hall.

“I can’t help feeling like we’re missing something,” Webby said once they were clear out of earshot. She didn’t say anything further, but Huey knew what she meant.

“They’ll explain it eventually,” Huey replied, shrugging. “They always do, eventually.”

“Eventually,” agreed Webby. “I wonder –“

“Yeah,” said Huey. He wondered what happened to Gosalyn’s dad, why Dad seemed so familiar with her even though he’d never introduced her to his own kids, who she was to Launchpad.

Why everyone was being so cryptic about the whole thing.

He sighed heavily as they came to a stop outside Webby’s bedroom. “There’s a lot of stuff they still don’t like to tell us.”

“They just want us to be safe, I guess,” Webby said. She frowned. “I hope Gosalyn’s dad is okay.”

Huey looked back in the direction they’d come from, back toward the front of the house. “I hope they tell her what’s going on.”

Webby hummed in agreement and she and Huey bid each other goodnight. Huey’s brothers were already in bed when he came into their room, so he climbed up to his bed as quietly as possible and laid there in the dark staring at the ceiling and thinking about being kept in the metaphorical dark until sleep came.

**Author's Note:**

> Before you ask, no. I will not tell you what happened to Drake. That's the point.


End file.
